I stand outside and watch a gardener mow grass, that smell of sap rises towards the noonday sun.

But I am far away from all these sensations, I am on the Siene, I am with Matisse as he fills his canvases with this orange light. Barges and boats ply up and down hooting their horns, tinkle of bicyclists bells, vendors on the streets, life is moving like a river through all the avenues, through me.

I am on a bridge arching over the waters, I am suspened like the gong of a clock awaiting for the completion of the hour so that I can strike, so that the echo of that sound can be carried by the wind to distant places when horizontal rain maybe be falling or where everything is snow white to jutaxspose everything black and everything beautiful that has been revolving in these deep revieres of mine.

And soon as quite darkness falls over the day and when millions of fireflies flit in the streets, everything would light up into a grand festival called You, soon very soon on the banks of Siene!!